


What Do I Do Without You?

by Stranded_In_The_Cosmos



Series: Tumblr Prompts [9]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale doesn't know it yet, Aziraphale is the big sad, Crowley is too, How do I tag?, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mentions of alcohol, Post-Scene: St James's Park 1862 (Good Omens), They technically aren't in a relationship, but they're in love, not beta we fall like crowley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:28:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23336908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stranded_In_The_Cosmos/pseuds/Stranded_In_The_Cosmos
Summary: Crowley asked for Holy Water, Aziraphale said no.Now that Crowley is nowhere to be seen, what can Aziraphale do?
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Tumblr Prompts [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1671034
Comments: 4
Kudos: 20





	What Do I Do Without You?

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt by @protect-the-jojos: Oooooh angst list 97, please!!
> 
> (Sure thing darling!)  
> Prompt 97: “I shouldn’t be here, but…”

Aziraphale watched the ducks skim across the water, deep inside his own head. Thinking, a lot, and again.

It had been two years since Crowley asked him for holy water. Two years since he lied about the nature of his and Crowley’s relationship. Two years since Crowley went missing. 

Aziraphale had ideas to where the demon might be, but he never went out to prove or disprove them. The angel wasn’t sure he deserved to know where the demon was. 

But, with a flash a tear-soaked anger, Aziraphale pushed a miniscule bit of the blame onto Crowley.

“His fault, asking for holy water…” Aziraphale mumbled, a tang of bitterness catching on his tongue accompanying the words. “What was he thinking…just going to let him destroy himself like that. And he calls me reckless,” He tossed some bread out to the ducks.

Once he ran out of bread, Aziraphale left. He couldn’t stay another minute. 

This became a cycle for another 3 years. Buy bread, feed the ducks, mumble to himself about Crowley and his reckless ask, run out of bread, run away from the park, tears in his eyes, drink just enough to sleep and avoid thought, then repeat cycle in the morning. 

It was 1867, 5 years, 3 months, 2 days since the fight. (Not that Aziraphale had been counting, definitely not him, no sir.)

Aziraphale stared at the bottle of wine in his hands, it was one of the many bottles he had drunk so far. 

It was practically infuriating, looking at his coping mechanism. How many times had he pitied the alcoholics that he came across? How many times had he pouted at Crowley to help the poor human out of the rut, and smiled and wiggled when the demon snapped his fingers. 

Now here he was, no better than them. 

(Not technically true, angels and demons can’t actually get addicted to anything, unless you consider the demon of addiction, but they’re in control of their addiction(s) )

Aziraphale put the bottle back into the case, not in the mood for wine anymore. 

He began to pace the bookshop impatiently, physically needing to get rid of his stress and frustration. 

When that wasn’t enough, he went out for a walk.

After looping around the whole of London twice, (Basically walking the path of what would soon enough be the M25) Aziraphale began running, a fixed destination in mind.

He had lost any restraint he had left at that point. He needed to see Crowley, make sure he was okay. Even if Crowley pushed him away (Justifiably so) he’d be satisfied that his best friend was okay.

Aziraphale reached Crowley’s flat in ten minutes. It should’ve taken far longer. But reality was bending for the angel, whether he knew it or not. 

Aziraphale would’ve normally knocked, but he needed to see Crowley, immediately. 

Anxiety filled Aziraphale’s stomach like mercury when he didn’t see the demon at his desk or any of the nearby rooms in view. But he wasn’t going to give up yet. 

The flat was much larger than it seemed on the outside, much likely Crowley’s doing. But after searching relentlessly, Aziraphale caught a flash of crimson hair in a room, the might’ve been a bedroom.

He closed his eyes, and tepidly stepped in. “I shouldn’t be here, but…”

Aziraphale opened his eyes. Expecting Crowley to be towering over him, his amber-gold eyes dripping with anger. 

But, instead, he saw Crowley, lying in a bed. His crimson hair spilling around him, like fire, consuming the demon it belonged to. The only sign that he was still alive, and hadn’t been discorporated, or worse, was the small rise and fall of his chest.

The demon had been sleeping, and by the looks of it, for a while, otherwise, why would Crowley’s hair be so long. 

“Oh,” Aziraphale squeaked softly. Crowley hadn’t been fraternizing with other people, the demon lied about it. 

Aziraphale miracled a pair of scissors into his hand. He was going to say sorry to Crowley in the only way he could with him sleeping. Cutting his hair to a reasonable length.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please comment is you can! They make my day!


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